She doesn’t have time to get another word out before Arden stumbles back in with a duffel bag that looks like it might cause her to topple over at any moment.
Lexi shrieks, “Holy shit, how long will you be gone?!”
Arden forces a smile. “I don’t know exactly, maybe a month or two? But you’ll manage. You only work a couple of nights a week. You’ve got a backup for Zoe, right? That girl from the club?”
Lexi’s eyes flash. She doesn’t look happy. She looks terrified, actually, but she nods.
Arden leans in, wrapping her arms around Lexi in a tight hug. I catch her whisper, “I just need you to trust me on this one,” before letting go.
“If anything happens to her…” Lexi’s gaze slices to me, “I will cut your fucking balls off.”
“Noted,” I say smoothly, though I take a few steps back, anyway.
Seconds later, Arden is in Zoe’s room whispering her goodbyes. When she rejoins me, her eyes are glistening and her lashes are clumped just enough to give her away. For the first time, I see something unguarded there. Not defiance or sarcasm. Genuine emotion.
She makes her way toward the door, her duffel bag bumping against her leg with every step. I reach for it without thinking. “I’ll take that.”
She shoots me a look and rolls her eyes, but in a few seconds she’s shrugging the strap off and handing it over anyway.
The bag is heavier than it looks.
We’re out the door moments later, the night air thick and quiet around us. By the time we merge onto the freeway heading south, she’s gone silent, staring out the window like she’s already bracing herself.
For the first time since this started, there’s no one else between us.
No waitress. No roommate. No exits.
Just me, Arden, and the road stretching out ahead of us. Dark, empty, and impossible to turn back from.
Chapter 11
ARDEN
The drive to L.A. is one I’ve made many times. Nothing to see here. Just a seemingly endless expanse of desert on both sides of the car.
If he were considering killing me, this would be the perfect time to do it. Maybe that’s why I’m not quite able to relax. I’ve been on edge since the moment I got into this car.
I’ve also been… curious. My imagination has already conjured up tons of different scenarios about the glamorous streets of Hollywood and the world I’m about to step into.
Red carpets, high-end shopping, and glitter trailing everywhere we walk. The type of glamour you only ever see in magazines or late-night reruns. In my mind, Hollywood is glossy and intoxicating. I don’t know if reality can live up to the hype, but I’m finally about to find out.
As we drive and I stare out at the dark desert, my mind continues to wander. What is Locke’s house like? Or maybe he lives in a hotel suite like the one he had here.
Either way, I’m picturing bare white walls, cold tile floors, and absolutely no warmth. That seems fitting.
That’s when I realize he hasn’t actually told me where we’re going or where I’ll be staying.
“Hey, where are we going exactly? And what are our living arrangements going to be while we’re working together?” The question makes my stomach flip. Not because of the job, or the possible chaos waiting for us in L.A. but because I’ll be trapped in the same space as him for weeks, maybe even months. I’m not convinced I can keep my hands to myself for that long.
“We might travel a bit, but for the week, you’ll stay at my place.” He notices my wary glance and grins. “What? Afraid to share a bed with me… again?”
He’s right. God, he’s right. I can’t stand his arrogant, insufferable ass… but the memory of his body pressing me into the mattress, the tattoos inked across those thick muscles, the way his hand sealed around my throat, how easily he wrung pleasure out of me like it was nothing. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want more.
I realize I haven’t answered when he adds, softer this time, “Don’t worry. There’s a guest bedroom and a private bathroom. I may be a lot of things, but a scumbag isn’t one of them.”
“Thank you” is all I can manage to say. Those memories are still swirling around in my head, leaving heat crawling up my neck. I need a distraction. Any distraction.
“So, tell me more about Jaxon Wilde,” I say, trying to think of anything to get my mind off that night.
